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Her thumb hovered over the power button. But she had promised Reggie that she would get her act together. And as much as she hated to admit it, Reggie was saving her ass out of the goodness of her heart, because God knew, her strategy of moving up to San Francisco to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond had certainly backfired.

At this point, her mercy job as Reggie’s assistant was the only thing keeping her decently housed and clothed.

“Hi, Reg. I’ll have the schedule over to Tyler tonight.”

Natalie only half heard Reggie’s protests as she realized that Attila was stomping in her direction, clipboard clutched to the front of her perfectly pressed white shirt.

“Excuse me,” she said, “if you’re going to take a call, you have to go outside.”

Natalie raised a finger in the universal “give me a minute” signal.

“You have to leave,” Attila insisted.

Natalie pressed her thumb over the tiny mouthpiece so Reggie couldn’t hear. She was already irritated at Natalie’s tendency to drop anything and everything in favor of an audition. “But I’ll lose my place in line.” She’d already waited over an hour, and the open call was first come first serve for only the next forty-five minutes. No way she’d get in if she had to hop back in at the end. Natalie’s eyes darted around the room in search of a sympathetic face.

Attila’s glare was uncompromising. “And don’t think you can get someone to hold your place.”

“Are you listening, Natalie? You already flaked on my makeup this morning—which I managed with your cheat sheets, so thanks for that. But believe it or not, I hired you because I actually need help.”

She was so tempted to hang up on Reggie she could taste it. But she could only push the flaky younger sister thing so far. Gathering up her purse, she shot a sneer at Attila that would have done a thirteen-year-old proud and stomped down the hallway.

A rush of cool fall air hit her face as she stepped out onto Battery Street and let Reggie end her tirade.

Hoping to shift her sister’s focus and satisfy her own curiosity, she asked, “So what happened with hot Gabe the bodyguard after I left?”

“Nothing,” Reggie said with uncharacteristic curtness. “Even if he was interested in picking up where we left off—which he’s obviously not—he made it very clear that he has a strict policy against dating his clients.”

Natalie winced in sympathy.

“When he came over to install the security system, he could have been a turnip for all the emotion he showed. Speaking of which, I need to give you the code.”

Natalie fished out a lip pencil and scribbled the six-digit code on the back of her hand. “Too bad. He doesn’t sound anything like you described him.” As she remembered, Reggie had giggled like a teenager and given her disappointingly sparse details about her night of acrobatic sex with Gabe, but cold was definitely not a word she had used. “Why did you tell him your name is Gina, anyway?”

“Stupid impulse. I gotta go. We’re about to start the second taping and gorgeous Gabe is supposed to be here to watch. Oh God, I hope I don’t accidentally call him that to his face. Tyler will be here later if you want to stop by this afternoon.”

The line went dead, and Natalie trotted down the street to grab the bus. If she typed fast, she should be able to get the schedule ready in plenty of time to swing by the studio. She spared a fleeting thought for the lost commercial opportunity. Not that she wanted to flit around in one of those ugly geriatric-looking bras, but still, a paycheck’s a paycheck.

She sighed and slumped down on her seat, ignoring the investment banker type who kept leering at her over his paper. Definitely not her type—slightly puffy in the face and neck, a sure indicator that under the fine tailoring of his suit, he was all white skin and flabby man boobs.

The woman next to her was flipping through a magazine. She nudged Natalie in the arm. “That Reggie Caldwell. Don’t you just love her?”

Natalie looked down at a two-page spread of her sister’s giant grin as she hovered over a big plate of sandwiches dripping with cheese. She felt like a knot of yarn was caught in her throat. “Yeah, she’s great,” she managed to croak. She wondered what the lady would say if she pointed out that for all the teeth and crinkling eyes, Reggie was faking that smile better than a porn star fakes an orgasm. Ten to one odds Reggie had been suppressing the urge to vomit when that photo was taken.

The cheesy sandwich? Reggie wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole because it was made with yellow American, which Reggie considered an abomination.

Not that it ever stopped her from using it in a recipe if she thought viewers would like it.

Natalie sighed and once again did her best to stifle the evil resentment that threatened to rear its ugly head whenever Natalie was reminded of Reggie’s sudden fame and success.

She was happy for Reggie. She really was. But she’d be a hell of a lot happier if she, Natalie, were still the more recognizable of the two. Even if it did mean Natalie was recognized from her frolic on a beach, expounding on the wonders of douche.

She let herself into Reggie’s apartment, helping herself to a diet soda on her way to Reggie’s office. Her stomach grumbled, all but begging for solid sustenance. She hadn’t eaten anything all day on the off chance that the casting director would want to see how she looked in her bra, and now she was starving. She dug through Reggie’s refrigerator and liberated a bag of baby carrots.

One good thing about Reggie’s cooking—she always started out with healthy stuff. The key was to get your hands on it before Reggie doused it with oil, butter, or non-American cheese.

A thought occurred to her as she flipped on Reggie’s computer. Why couldn’t she have her own show on the Cuisine Network? She had as much, if not more, screen presence than Reggie. Of course, she didn’t cook, but so what? There were lots of shows that employed a sidekick whose sole purpose seemed to be to ask questions so the hotshot chef could highlight his amazing skills.

Maybe she could do a healthy focus show, where they cooked low-fat, low-calorie dishes, and Natalie could serve as an example of what viewers could look like if they stopped shoving so much food into their heads. As she keyed in Reggie’s travel information, she planned it all out. She’d pitch it to Reggie’s producer, Max, who had developed several shows for the Cuisine Network. He was always looking for new ideas and fresh talent.

Too bad Max was most likely gay. Not that Natalie ever succumbed to the casting couch—she wasn’t that desperate for douche and cat food commercials—but she wasn’t above using her sex appeal to push a guy in the direction of giving her what she wanted.

No matter. Max would have to be blind not to see the potential. And by the time she headed for the studio, she not only had a printed copy of Reggie’s itinerary for the next six weeks, she had a one-page proposal, complete with sample recipes. Hopefully whatever chef they found could help jazz up the titles a little bit. Lettuce with lemon juice probably wouldn’t fly.

He’d put it off as long as he could. Gabe checked his watch. He needed to get to the studio before they finished taping for the day so he could get a feel for the people she worked around, see what security, if any, was in place during a busy taping session.

At least he wouldn’t be alone with her. He’d almost lost it on Saturday, after the guy from the alarm company left and he’d walked Reggie around the apartment to show her what was wired and how it worked. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell her, clean shampoo and something else that smelled a whole lot like cinnamon buns.

It was all he could do to resist the urge to bend down and take a bite out of her buns.

Now that train of thought will get you in trouble.

Four days later, and he was still reeling from his unexpected reunion with his hot little Hawaii fling. The woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind after all this time. He was ashamed to admit it, but it still stung, the way she had snuck out on him without so much as a a see you later.

Now, why’s that, jackass? Did you think you’d get her number and try to make a romance out of it? Aren’t you forgetting that you only fucked her in the first place to forget the last client you were stupid enough to get involved with? You know, the one who dropped you like a poisonous snake and all but ruined your career. Keep your distance, Randy Andy. You can get laid when you’re off the job.

Resolve bolstered, Gabe entered the building and made his way to the studio, making a mental note that the guard at the security desk didn’t ask for ID or call to make sure it was okay to send him up.

They were almost finished setting up for the next episode when Gabe walked in. Wrestling his expression into one of calm detachment, he greeted her with a silent wave. She gave him a tight smile and refocused on her conversation.

The tall, thin man had to be Max, the producer. He was probably in his early forties, and he wore a lavender fitted button-down shirt with black slacks, his leather belt sporting a brushed silver buckle. His hair was tousled just so.

But Max is gay.
Natalie’s assertion echoed in his brain. Personally, his gaydar wasn’t particularly refined, so he figured he’d have to take her word for it.

Still, there was something about the way Max stood, a little too close to Reggie, even if he was reading a script over her shoulder. Reggie didn’t seem to notice anything odd about it at all.

Probably nothing, but he didn’t like the way Max invaded her personal space.

Reggie marked something down on the script and handed it back to Max, then waved her hand in Gabe’s direction. Max walked up and introduced himself just as Natalie and a big blond guy in a suit walked in, bickering fiercely in loud whispers.

“I apologized for forgetting the book signing in Dallas, okay? I’ll fix the schedule,” Natalie said through clenched teeth.

“How hard is it to maintain one woman’s schedule? Your sister pays me a lot of money to help set these things up.”

“I keep up with her schedule, Tyler. That one event just slipped my mind.”

Ah, so this was Tyler, the PR agent. Gabe had done background checks on both him and Max over the weekend, neither of which had uncovered anything of note.

Tyler wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. He hadn’t worked with too many publicists—Marly Chase’s toady had been his first up-close encounter—but he generally thought them to be a pretty smarmy bunch.

Tyler looked okay. Gabe supposed he could charm the pants off anyone with his Ken-doll looks and sharp suit. But instead of gracing Gabe with the expected slick smile, Tyler’s expression was serious as he looked him in the eye and shook his hand.

“You’re watching out for Reggie. Glad to hear it.”

Tyler’s handshake was firmer than necessary. Gabe knew when he was being sized up. But why? Did Tyler have a more than professional interest in his client? Not that Gabe could blame him if he did since he was doing his damnedest to deny the very same thing. But was Tyler’s interest just a normal red-blooded response to an attractive woman, or was it something more sinister?

“Quiet on the set.”

“Don’t make a sound or Max will rip you a new one,” Natalie whispered. “They do these shows live to tape, and it’s a huge pain if they have to stop.”

His eyes were drawn to Reggie, standing behind the counter of her kitchen set. She wore a bright green sweater that made her eyes sparkle. Or maybe it was the extra mascara she wore. He’d never seen her with that much makeup on—more than he generally liked on women, not that they ever asked. But he had to admit she looked sexy, even a little glamorous with that sinful mouth of hers glossed to a juicy shine.

Tactical error, looking at her mouth. It reminded him of how lush and soft it had felt on various parts of his body, especially the hot, aching tip of his cock—

“And rolling!”

Jesus, he hadn’t had an unexpected hard-on since high school. Fortunately, no one noticed that he’d popped a woody, as everyone was focused on Reggie as she sprang into action.

Her smile was bright and animated as she walked out from behind the camera. “Hey there everyone. Welcome to
Simply Delicious
. I’m Reggie Caldwell. Today I’m going to show you a steak dinner so easy even the most kitchen-phobic person can put it together. And as always, it will be simply delicious.”

And she was off. Gabe was astounded at her ability to keep up a nonstop stream of chatter. She spoke as though she had a couple of friends in the kitchen, seamlessly integrating all the necessary instructions and food facts as she worked. Gabe was struck anew by her enthusiasm and energy, the same vibrancy that had attracted him to her in the first place. And he was endlessly tormented by the memory of how she focused all that energy and enthusiasm during sex.

Nothing seemed to throw her off her game. At one point she dropped a mushroom she was chopping. Without missing a beat, she giggled and said, “Oops, I guess that’s for the dog. I don’t have a dog now, unfortunately, but when I was growing up we had a golden retriever who was like a living vacuum…” And so it went for another twenty minutes or so.

Once she had the meal plated up and gave wine suggestions, she sat down at the little kitchen table on the set. She took a sip of red wine and said, “As you know, this is the time during the week when we like to take a call from a viewer. Today we have a call from…” She squinted at the teleprompter. “I can’t tell who we have a call from because I can’t seem to read the screen. Go ahead, caller.”

“Hello, Reggie.” The hairs on the back of Gabe’s neck stood on end. There was something about that voice, like it was disguised to sound deeper and raspier than it really was. Gabe wasn’t the only one who noticed. Reggie had stiffened almost imperceptibly, her smile now tight around the corners, a hint of worry in her big brown eyes.

Nevertheless, she kept her composure. “Hello, caller. What’s your question?”

“I want to know, Reggie, what you’ll have as an accompaniment when you suck my cock.”

Her eyes went wide, and for a moment everyone froze as she simply stared at the camera. “Well, caller, I personally prefer my cock unadorned, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. Do we have another call perhaps?”